Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes <br />And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway; <br />Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes <br />Blown by black players upon a picnic day. <br />She sang and danced on gracefully and calm, <br />The light gauze hanging loose about her form; <br />To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm <br />Grown lovelier for passing through a storm. <br />Upon her swarthy neck black shiny curls <br />Luxuriant fell; and tossing coins in praise, <br />The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, <br />Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze; <br />But looking at her falsely-smiling face, <br />I knew her self was not in that strange place.<br /><br />Claude McKay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-harlem-dancer/
